


Projection

by entanglednow



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-20
Updated: 2011-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:50:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mansion is making him soft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Projection

  
The mansion is making him soft, because Erik doesn't hear Charles come in. It's unsettling enough that he can feel his fingers curling into a fist. But his voice, when he speaks, is as bland and unsurprised as possible.

"I thought you were downstairs?"

"Oh, I am," Charles says with a nod, he either doesn't notice, or ignores, Erik's moment of irritation.

Erik frowns when Charles's words sink in. But Charles answers before he can ask again.

"I decided I couldn't encourage people to practice while neglecting to push myself. So, I'm _practising_." Charles spreads his hands, and smiles in that terribly arrogant, but strangely charming, way he has. Then he pushes them into his pockets. "I'm in the kitchen right now, talking to Raven, or rather making a shopping list with Raven. We're out of coffee, by the way."

Erik raises an eyebrow.

"I know, terrible state of affairs." Charles leans back against the desk - or pretends to? - there's no protesting creak of the wood. No tiny scratch of the legs, shifting against the floor. Though Erik shouldn’t expect there to be, this is a Charles who exists purely inside his head. A simulacrum.

"I'm calling it a projection, actually," Charles says and there's pride in his voice.

It takes him a second to realise his mistake.

"Sorry," Charles shakes his head. "You pronounced that quite loudly, and it's hard to make you see me without skimming a little bit, blurring the edges, if you will. Sort of like water-skiing, I'd imagine, tricky to master."

Erik dismisses the apology with a wave of his hand. He's genuinely curious now. Charles certainly looks solid enough.

"I thought I'd give it a go. Here - you know me, well enough to know if I'm real or not. Here, touch it, tell me what you think."

Erik does not miss the 'it,' and finds he doesn't much like it. But Charles holds out an arm, with all the enthusiasm of a small child, and Erik can't quite resist the urge to reach out and grasp it. He's not sure what he's expecting. Though he's still a little surprised, when it feels exactly like Charles. The soft rasp of shirt, the roll and tense of muscle under his fingers. He squeezes, and far from wisping apart, like he expects, the arm almost becomes more real, more defined.

"It feels real." He sounds surprised.

Charles's smile widens, at what he clearly decides is a compliment.

"It's supposed to. That's the point. It's no good if it doesn't feel real. I'm controlling it, or rather I'm here, I'm observing, and controlling. But I think I could just as easily leave it here unsupervised, solid but empty, I suppose." He frowns, and Erik can tell he's following a train of thought - of possibilities.

"Like a doll," Erik suggests, and his mouth twists as soon as the word leaves it, unhappy with it.

Charles pulls a face, he obviously doesn't like that description either.

"I wouldn't have used that exact phrase, but there is some accuracy there."

Erik can still feel himself frowning. Something's off, something's wrong, and it takes him a moment to put his finger on what it is.

"You don't smell of anything," Erik realises finally, though it sounds odd out loud. But Charles nods like he's a genius.

"Ah, yes, that's a good point. It's amazing how closely memory and perception is tied to smell. Hang on."

Charles shifts, almost imperceptibly in his own skin, and suddenly Erik can smell him. It's Charles, without doubt. Layers of fresh cotton, and coffee, and that shampoo he uses with an unpleasant amount of citrus.

"Better?"

"Better," Erik agrees with a nod, and this time he does offer the ghost of a smile.

"I forgot, of course, that I have to fool all your senses."

"The desk didn't make any noise when you leant on it, either," Erik points out. "Also, you might want to remember to have footsteps." Erik considers the sort of people they may come in contact with. "We've already encountered mutants with heightened senses, different senses altogether. You may have to learn how they perceive you as well."

"I'm as real as I can convince other people I am," Charles says with a nod.

"So, you could hurt me like this, physically?" Erik says slowly, considering.

Charles frowns, as if the thought hadn't even occurred to him.

"Yes, I mean, convincing the brain that body parts are physically injured is a fairly crude science but - yes." He nods carefully like he's thinking about it. "I'm fairly sure I could even throw a convincing punch, if I had to."

Erik's eyebrows lift. The curve of Charles's jaw from a foot away looks soft, vulnerable.

"Really? Well that would be something new."

"Unkind, Erik." Charles is laughing nonetheless, seemingly unwilling, or unable, to take offence. Erik still isn't sure if that's a good thing or not. "I have exactly as much physical weight as I want."

Erik can't help the way his expression does not so much disbelieve him, as require proof.

Charles laughs and slips his hands out of his pockets, takes a step forward. Erik has just enough time to realise he had asked for exactly this, before Charles has an arm slung round his back. It's an embrace, for want of a better word, and though Erik knows he should have stiffened immediately, he can't work up any anger.

Charles is still laughing into his shoulder, and Erik can feel it. He can feel the shape of him, weight and warmth against his chest, and nothing could have convinced him that Charles wasn't absolutely real. Nothing could have convinced him that he didn't have his hands pressed into the warmth of Charles's back, fingers stiff and uncertain. Though he has no recollection of folding his arms around him, and though Erik's almost certain he should release him, he can't bring himself to let his arms drop.

"You should have more faith in me," Charles says quietly, and squeezes him, just a little, a demonstration, obviously.

Erik finds himself tightening his fingers, without thinking, and Charles huffs like he's done something utterly right.

The problem, Erik thinks, is not faith.

  



End file.
